Canto 10

When we were within the threshold of the gate, which the souls’ wrong love¹¹⁷ disuses, because it makes the crooked way seem straight, I heard by its resounding that it was closed again. And, if I had turned my eyes to it, what excuse would have been befitting for the fault?

Once we were inside the gate, I heard it close again with a resounding sound. Souls rarely use this gate because their misguided love¹¹⁷ makes the crooked path seem straight. And if I had turned to look at the gate, what excuse could I have offered for my fault?

We were ascending through a cloven rock, which moved on one side and on the other, even as the wave retreats and approaches. “Here must be used a little art,” began my Leader, “in keeping close, now here, now there to the side which recedes.”¹¹⁸ And this made our progress so slow that the waning disk of the moon regained its bed to go to rest, before we had come forth from that needle’s eye. But when we were free and open above, where the mountain backward withdraws,¹¹⁹ I weary, and both uncertain of our way, we stopped upon a level more solitary than roads through deserts. The space from its edge, where it borders the void, to the foot of the high bank which rises only, a human body would measure in three lengths; and as far as my eye could stretch its wings, now on the left and now on the right side, such did this cornice seem to me. Thereon our feet had not yet moved when I perceived that bank round about, which, being perpendicular, allowed no ascent, to be of white marble and adorned with such carvings, that not Polycletus merely but Nature would be put to shame there.

We were climbing through a cleft in the rock that wound from side to side, like a wave advancing and retreating. “We need a little skill here,” my guide began, “keeping close to whichever side curves away from us.”¹¹⁸ This made our progress so slow that the waning moon had returned to its bed to rest before we emerged from that needle’s eye. But when we came out into the open above, where the mountain slopes back,¹¹⁹ we stopped. I was tired, and neither of us knew which way to go. We stood on a level ledge more lonely than roads through deserts. From its outer edge, beside the empty space, to the foot of the high bank rising above it, the ledge was three body lengths wide. As far as I could see to either side, the ledge seemed the same width. We had not yet taken a step along it when I noticed the bank that rose around us. It was vertical, so there was no way to climb it. It was made of white marble and adorned with carvings that would put not only Polycletus but Nature herself to shame.

The Angel who came to earth with the announcement of the peace, wept for for many years, which opened Heaven from its long interdict, appeared before us here carved in a sweet attitude so truly that he did not seem an image that is silent. One would have sworn that he was saying “Ave;” for there was she imaged who turned the key to open the exalted love. And in her action she had these words impressed, “Ecce ancilla Dei!”¹²⁰ as exactly as a shape is sealed in wax.

The angel who came to earth to announce peace appeared before us here, carved in a gentle pose. That peace, mourned for many years, opened Heaven after its long closure. The carving was so lifelike that the angel did not seem like a silent image. One would have sworn that he was saying “Ave,” for there too was the woman who turned the key to open the way to exalted love. Her pose conveyed the words “Ecce ancilla Dei!”¹²⁰ as clearly as a shape pressed into wax.

“Keep not thy mind only on one place,” said the sweet Master, who had me on that side where people have their heart. Wherefore I moved my eyes and saw behind Mary, upon that side where he was who was moving me, another story displayed upon the rock; whereupon I passed Virgil and drew near so that it might be set before my eyes. There in the very marble was carved the cart and the oxen drawing the holy ark, because of which men fear an office not given in charge.¹²¹ In front appeared people; and all of them, divided in seven choirs, of two of my senses made the one say “NO,” the other “YES, THEY ARE SINGING.”¹²² In like manner, by the smoke of the incense that was imaged there, mine eyes and nose were made in YES and NO discordant. There, preceding the blessed vessel, dancing, girt up, was the humble Psalmist, and more and less than king was he in that proceeding. Opposite, figured at a window of a great palace, Michal was looking on even as a lady scornful and troubled.¹²³

“Do not keep your mind fixed on one place,” said my gentle Master. He stood beside me on the side where the heart lies. So I looked and saw another scene carved into the rock behind Mary, on Virgil’s side. I passed him and drew near so I could see it clearly. There in the marble was a cart and the oxen drawing the holy ark. Because of the ark, people fear taking on a duty not entrusted to them.¹²¹ People appeared in front, all divided into seven choirs. My eyes said “YES, THEY ARE SINGING,” but my ears said “NO.”¹²² In the same way, my eyes and nose disagreed about the smoke from the incense depicted there. Before the blessed vessel, the humble Psalmist danced with his clothes tucked up. In doing so, he was both more and less than a king. Across from him, Michal was shown looking out from a window of a great palace, like a lady both scornful and troubled.¹²³

I moved my feet from the place where I was standing to look from near at another story which behind Michal was shining white on me. Here was storied the high glory of the Roman prince, whose worth incited Gregory to his great victory:¹²⁴ I speak of Trajan the emperor; and a poor widow was at his bridle in attitude of weeping and of grief. Round about him there seemed a press and throng of knights, and the eagles in the gold above him to the sight were moving in the wind. The wretched woman among all these seemed to be saying, “Lord, do vengeance for me for my son who is slain, whereat I am broken-hearted.” And he to answer her, “Now wait till I return;” and she, “My Lord,”—like one in whom grief is hasty,—“if thou return not?” And he, “He who shall be where I am will do it for thee.” And she, “What will the good deed of another be to thee if thou art mindless of thine own?” Whereon he, “Now comfort thee; for it behoves that I discharge my own duty ere I go; justice requires it, and pity constrains me.” He who hath never seen new thing¹²⁵ had produced that visible speech, novel to us, since on earth it is not found.

I left the place where I stood and moved closer to another scene, shining white behind Michal. It showed the great glory of the Roman prince whose virtue inspired Gregory to his great victory.¹²⁴ I mean the emperor Trajan. A poor widow stood at his horse’s bridle, weeping and grieving. A crowd of knights seemed to press around him. Above him, the golden eagles appeared to move in the wind. Among them all, the wretched woman seemed to be saying, “Lord, avenge my son, who has been killed. His death has broken my heart.” He seemed to answer, “Wait until I return.” But she, made impatient by grief, replied, “My Lord, what if you do not return?” He answered, “Whoever takes my place will do it for you.” She said, “What good will another person’s good deed do you if you neglect your own?” He replied, “Take comfort now. I must do my duty before I leave. Justice requires it, and pity urges me on.” He who has never seen anything new¹²⁵ had created this visible speech. It was new to us, since nothing like it exists on earth.

While I was delighting me with regarding the images of such great humilities, and for their Maker’s sake dear to behold, “Lo, on this side many people, but they make few steps,” murmured the Poet. “They will put us on the way to the high stairs.” My eyes that were intent on looking in order to see novelties whereof they are fain, in turning toward him were not slow.

I was delighting in the images of such great humility, which were dear to behold for their maker’s sake. “Look, there are many people on this side, but they are moving slowly,” murmured the Poet. “They will show us the way to the high stairs.” My eyes were searching eagerly for new sights, but I quickly turned toward him.

I would not, indeed, Reader, that thou be dismayed at thy good purpose, through hearing how God wills that the debt be paid. Attend not to the form of the suffering; think on what follows; think that at worst beyond the Great Judgment it cannot go!

Reader, I do not want you to be discouraged from your good purpose when you hear how God wants the debt paid. Do not focus on the form of the suffering. Think about what follows. Remember that, at worst, the suffering cannot last beyond the Great Judgment!

I began, “Master, that which I see moving toward us, seems to me not persons, but what I know not, my look is so in vain.” And he to me, “The heavy condition of their torment so presses them to earth, that mine own eyes at first had contention with it. But look fixedly there, and disentangle with thy sight that which cometh beneath those stones; now thou canst discern how each is smitten.”

I began, “Master, what I see moving toward us does not seem to be people. But I cannot tell what it is, however hard I look.” And he said to me, “The weight of their torment presses them so close to the ground that I too had trouble seeing them at first. But look closely and make out what is beneath those stones. Now you can see how each one is afflicted.”

O proud Christians, wretched weary ones, who, diseased in vision of the mind, have confidence in backward steps, are ye not aware that we are worms born to form the angelic butterfly which flies unto judgment without defence? Why doth your mind float up aloft, since ye are as it were defective insects, even as a worm in which formation fails?

Proud Christians, you wretched, weary people, your minds cannot see clearly, yet you trust in steps that lead backward. Do you not realize that we are worms born to become angelic butterflies, flying defenseless to judgment? Why are you so proud, when you are like defective insects, like worms that fail to develop?

As sometimes for support of ceiling or roof, by way of corbel, a figure is seen joining its knees to its breast, which out of its unreality makes a real pang rise in him who sees it, thus fashioned saw I these when I gave good heed. True it is that they were more or less contracted according as they had more or less upon their backs; and he who had most patience in his looks, weeping, appeared to say, “I can no more.”

Sometimes a carved figure supports a ceiling or roof, with its knees drawn up to its chest. Though the figure is not real, it can cause real pain to the person who sees it. When I looked closely, I saw that these souls were shaped in the same way. They were bent over more or less, depending on how much they carried on their backs. Even the one whose face showed the most patience was weeping and seemed to say, “I can go no further.”